My skirt swishes as I walk down the long hall of my mistress’s mansion. It’s a short skirt, more fetish wear than practical. Each motion I make threatens to expose me, a prospect made all the more thrilling by my lack of underwear. Not that I’m enjoying this, of course. That would be unprofessional of me. Just because the uniform is skimpy and inappropriate doesn’t mean that I can be crass about it. It’s not like I could have chosen a different one. This is the uniform Mistress likes, so this is the uniform us maids have to wear.

I wouldn’t wear something like this otherwise. 

A pair of black slippers. Thin silk socks that end above my knees. A one piece dress, with a black skirt short enough to leave a couple inches of bare thigh exposed. No panties, of course, which is obvious anytime I need to bend down. The top of the dress is nearly a nearly shoulderless white blouse, with the only things holding it up being a pair of frilly shoulder straps that act as maid pauldrons; for lack of a better description. No bra, obviously, and my nipples are constantly poking through the thin fabric covering them. There’s also a black choker around my neck, with a little silver token that has my name engraved; Liz. My blonde hair is tied back in a tight, braided bun, and a neat frilled headband tops it all off.

I look very good wearing this, and I love the way Mistress looks at me. Even if it does make it difficult to be professional, which I don’t like. It’s so airy, freeing, and any moment it feels like I’m going to have a wardrobe malfunction. It’s humiliating, and I keep having to repress all this arousal, which is very inconvenient.

I knock on my mistress’s door, and she calls for me to enter. With a flourish and a small curtsy—one that gets dangerously close to exposing my pussy—I step into the center of her office. It’s a cozy space, with plush carpet and shelves of books lining the walls. Everything is painted in warm colors, and the soft light of the morning filters through the large window at the other end of the room. My mistress is seated behind a mahogany desk in front of said window, looking poised and elegant.

She’s wearing a white button-up shirt, with the top two buttons undone. She doesn’t have any cleavage to show off, but the tailored shirt shows off her svelte form in such a way that it doesn’t matter. Behind the desk, I know she’s wearing a tight pencil skirt, with sheer leggings beneath, as that’s her favorite outfit. Her shoes are set off to the side, as she doesn’t wear them when doing desk work. Simply put, she’s stunningly attractive.

There's a faint hum in the background. Almost like music, but not quite. A drone, fading in and out of my mind. I can almost pick out the details. If I could just—

“Hello, Lizzy,” Mistress purrs, cutting off my errant train of thought.

“Mistress,” I say curtly, annoyed at the interruption of my duties. I can’t refuse her, of course, not that I’d want to, but I was in the middle of my job when I got the message to attend to her.

She raises an eyebrow at my tone. “You’re in a mood today, aren’t you?”

I scowl. “I’m always in a mood. It’s hard not to be when I’m constantly getting pulled away from my duties.” I fiddle with the edge of my skirt. “The distracting uniform certainly doesn’t help matter.”

Mistress chuckles. “You really are grumpy today, aren’t you?” 

I open mouth to interject—

“You don’t have to wear that outfit, you know.” Her eyes glint with unrestrained lust.

I snap my mouth shut, and wait for her to say something else. I don’t want to go around naked, which is what she’ll make me do if I continue to protest. Every time that happens, my productivity plummets, and I’m already behind as it is.

“Good girl,” she says, and I shiver at her tone. I don’t enjoy this, nope, not at all. I’d much rather be scrubbing the walls than rubbing my thighs in anticipation.

Mistress stands up, and steps around to the front of her desk; I was right, she is wearing a pencil skirt. My heart pounds as she looks me over, eyes dissecting me. Undressing me, more like. My mistress is such a pervert.

“Lift up your skirt,” she orders. I comply, face and neck burning red.

She closes the remaining distance, and presses her hand to my smooth pussy; I waxed it on her orders. Her fingers brush against my damp folds, and my breath catches as I hold back an inappropriate sound. It’s so hard to hold my tongue when she makes me feel so good.

“Just as I suspected,” she says, sliding a finger inside me. Something between a squeak and a moan escapes my lips. “No wonder you’re in a mood; you’re all pent up.”

“That’s not why,” I say, jerking back to stop myself from leaning into her touch; not that it works. I keep leaning in, and then I have to pull back. It’s really frustrating how my body betrays me like this. It’s just so hard to remain composed when I feel this good.

“Oh, but I think it is, silly girl,” Mistress purrs, leaning past my cheek to nibble my earlobe. I make a sound at that, one that seems to amuse her greatly.

“T-That’s not...” I trail off, eyes half closed as pleasure mounts in my core.

“Gone on, Lizzy,” Mistress whispers. “Cum for me.”

My hips jerk, and my vision goes black. Right, eyes closed, nerves burning with pleasure, and legs shaking. I can barely stand, but my mistress is here to catch me. It’s humiliating.

Which is honestly the best part.

“Do you feel better now?” Mistress asks.

Yes. “No, Mistress, not really,” I mumble. “Thank you anyway,” I add belatedly.

She presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Good girl. Now, why don’t you show your appreciation, hmm?”

It’s not actually a question. I lower myself to my knees, and gently roll up her skirt. The scent of her arousal hits me the moment I pull down her tights and panties, and I lick my lips on impulse. It’s always a treat when I get to do this, even if it means I’ll be even further behind on the dusting.

I press my lips to her pussy, eagerly lapping up her juice. She tastes really good for some reason. I can’t get enough of this flavor, the sweetness mixing with the slightest tang. Mistress puts a hand on my head, and I let out a small moan.

“After this, you’ll go on your rounds,” Mistress says, voice thick and heavy. “Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say, voice muffled by her muff.

Doing my job will be easier after this, at least. Probably. As long as nobody interrupts me. Or I don’t get distracted. Or Mistress doesn’t stop me.

Whatever, I just need to do my work, and everything will be fine.

*****

Dusting the top shelf is so annoying, because it's just high enough that I can't reach it without standing on my tiptoes. Which causes my skirt to raise up, and reveal my pussy, bare and swollen with arousal.

At least there's nobody else—

“Nice ass,” comes an annoyingly familiar voice.

“Fuck off, Lee,” I snap, not bothering to turn around. As humiliating as this is, I need to finish my work, and so there's no point in covering myself up. Besides, it’s nothing Lee hasn’t seen before.

“Is that really what you want me to do?” His voice gets closer as he speaks. A pair of bare hands rests on my hips, and I nearly fall over at the sensation.

“I'm trying to work, so yes,” I say, face scarlet with embarrassed arousal. God, he's just the worst. Never leaving me alone, always feeling me up when I’m trying to work, and also just being taller than me.

“Looks like you're pretty much done,” he says, taking advantage of his height to check my work. “Just a bit more on the left.”

I grumble as I move over, unwilling to admit that he's actually being helpful right now. Idiot.

Something hot and hard pressed against my ass. His cock. I've felt it enough times that even if it wasn't obvious, I'd recognize it. “Put that thing away,” I say, only half paying attention as I focus on getting rid of the rest of the dust.

“Nah,” he says, sliding himself between my thighs and slowly rubbing against my dripping folds. Sparks shoot through me where our skin connects. “I'm thinking you need to unwind a bit.”

“This isn't going to help me unwind,” I protest weakly, dropping my feather duster now that the shelf is clean. 

I go to grab his hands, when he pushes me forward. With a squeak, I fall forward, and brace myself against the bookshelf. Taking advantage of my new position, he presses the tip of his cock against my eager cunt. At the same time, my shoulder straps slip, and my breasts spring free of their flimsy constraints.

“Just relax,” Lee says, smugness dripping from his voice. “Enjoy yourself.”

I suppose there’s nothing I can do about this, so I might as well try.

He pushes into me. I let out a long, whorish moan. With a wet thump, he goes all the way inside me. My breasts swing under me as my body rocks in time with his thrusts. It feels so damn good, not that I'd ever say as much. It doesn't matter if it feels good, it gets in the way of my work.

Besides, I didn't ask for this, he’s just doing it all on his own.

Lee slaps my ass, and I squeak indignantly. “You're nice and tight,” he says, as if that means anything. He says it to everyone, after all, so it can’t be all that special.

“Glad I can—” I gasp sharply as he rubs against one of my more sensitive spots  “—be of service.”

I kind of am, actually. Serving people is nice. It’s wonderful to do my job and make others feel good. The warmth of satisfaction pours into me as Lee cums.

Wait, that's semen, not satisfaction.

I whine faintly as he pulls out of my freshly creamed pussy. “Disappointed?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Relieved, more like,” I snark back. “Are you done yet?”

“I need to be cleaned off,” he says unashamedly.

I huff, turn to face him, and drop to my knees. Cum leaks down my inner thighs, and my bare breasts bounce with my sudden movements. His cock is coated in a thin film of slime, with just a hint of white cum leaking from the tip. Mouth watering, I lean forward and take it in my mouth.

He tastes excellent, as usual. That's one thing I don't understand, actually. How does everyone here taste so good? The men and women both have the sweetest cum. I could sit her and lap it up all day long, if I had nothing else to do.

Lee pulls his softened member out of my mouth, and stows it away. “Thanks, doll,” he says with a smile. “You’re the best, you know?”

I lick my lips absently, ignoring how nice those words feel. “Great. Can I get back to work now?”

For the first time today, I take a look at Lee more properly. He’s clean-shaven, aside from a few wisps on his chin. He’s wearing a loose white button-up shirt, with a security guard patch on it; the top two buttons are undone, giving him a somewhat roguish look. The fabric is thin, and I can actually see his dark nipples poking through. The pants are low hanging slacks, designed to be easy to take off. I know he’s not wearing underwear, and his pubes are waxed like the rest of the staff.

“Of course.” He chuckles, and steps out of the room to continue his patrol. The slacks are very tight around the back, which makes it fun to watch him leave.

I'm alone. Kneeling on the ground. Half naked. Cum dripping out of my pussy. I've also finished the work I had to do, and could afford to take a little break.

My fingers slide across my inner thighs, scooping up the drops of cum.

I need to clean up, after all. It's unseemly of me to be all dirty like this.

My fingers slide past my lips, and I lick them clean with an indulgent moan. Then my hand goes back to my pussy, and I start digging the semen out of my cunt.

I just need a few minutes, that's all.

*****

Jenny is nice. Some of the other maids aren’t, but I like Jenny. She’s a bit taller than me, with short brown hair and a perpetually cheerful smile. Somehow, she always sees the bright side of any given situation.

“Cheer up, Lizzy,” Jenny says, wrapping her arms around me from behind. Her soft chest presses against me, the thin fabric doing little to blunt the sensation. “We’ll have this mess cleaned up in now time!”

The mess in question is a burst pipe in the basement, right next to the shut-off valve. One way or another, we’re going to get soaked shutting it off. At least fixing it is easy and we don’t need to wait for a plumber; Mistress made sure we all have general maintenance skills.

“It still sucks,” I grumble, pushing her off before my blush crawls much further up my face. She’s better than the others, but she’s still too... touchy. Even when those touches are nice, it’s still a lot to deal with. Like right now, her hand is underneath my skirt, resting on my ass, fingers gently squeezing—

“We have work to do,” I say quickly, and step towards the spray.

“Wait, Lizzy—”

The water drowns out her next words as I step into it. In an instant, my clothes are soaked through with cold water. I clench my teeth and push forward, ignoring how my nipples harden, how my blouse white blouse goes transparent as it clings to me, how my shoes squelch with each step. I reach the valve, and start twisting it closed. Bit by bit the water slows, until with a grunt, I shut it off completely.

There’s silence, broken only by the water dripping from me to the puddles on the floor. Footsteps splash towards me from behind. “Silly Lizzy,” Jenny says, grin audible. “I was going to get you a raincoat first.”

Oh right. That... might have been smart. I turn around, and see Jenny walking barefoot through the water towards me, her socks and shoes neatly folded on a crate. That also might have been smart. “Fuck.”

Jenny giggles. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

Her hands rest on my shoulders. I’m shivering, knees shaking and teeth chattering. “I’m fine,” I grit out.

Jenny’s long fingers trail downwards, beneath my arms and down my side, taking the frilly shoulder straps with her. Her thumbs hook the top of my blouse, and she slowly peels it downwards. I don’t resist, even as more of my skin is exposed. My breath comes ragged, and my heart pounds in my chest. My clothes fall to my feet with a heavy splash.

“Good girl,” she whispers, one hand on my stomach, and the other cupping my pussy. I bite my lip, eyes closed, waiting for her to touch me. 

Her hands move, and instead of molesting me, she starts to tug down my socks. I open my eyes, and turn to look at her. She’s kneeling in the puddle, too focused on undressing me to notice her own dress is getting soaked. “Jenny,” I say, having finally found my voice.

“Hmm?” She looks up, blinking her wide eyes slowly. One shoulder strap has slipped down, and the blouse is threatening to expose her nipple. Her breasts are smaller than mine, so her top has less holding it up.

“Your skirt...” I trail off, raising my feet automatically as she finishes undressing me.

“Oh!” Jenny looks down in shock. Despite everything, I know that she’s being genuine; she didn’t try to get her clothes wet. “Drat. Oh well, it’ll dry quick.”

She stands up, grips her skirt, and pulls her outfit over her head. Despite myself, I can’t help but stare. She’s thinner than me, with most of that being toned muscle. My eyes linger on the faint impression of abs, and then my gaze slides down to her carefully waxed pussy; Mistress likes us bare.

“Hand me your clothes,” she says, hand outstretched. Face red, I bend down and pick up the sodden garments. 

Jenny accepts them with a smile, and turns back towards the dry part of the basement. Her ass shifts from side to side as she walks, faintly wet from the water. I blink. Her inner thighs are wet too. Heat curls inside me, and I force myself to look away. We have work to do. I can’t get distracted by her nudity; or my own.

Jenny comes back, replacement pipe in one hand, and toolbox in the other. “Right, let’s get this done.”

We get to work. The whole time, I can’t help but stare at her. Over and over, she steps a bit too close, or presses herself against me in a way that feels unnecessary. It’s nearly impossible to focus, but we get the work done regardless. With a twist, we turn the water back on, and the pipe doesn’t explode.

“Great,” Jenny says with a grin. “Now all we have to do is mop.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and turn around to grab the mop. It’s on the other side of the basement and—Jenny grabs me from behind, pulling her flush against her. “What?” I squeak, grabbing her arm on instinct.

“You’re still so cold,” she whispers, lips brushing against my ear. “Let me warm you up.”

One hand grabs my breast, squeezing it gently, while the other starts stroking my folds. “J-Jenny,” I hiss, bucking my hips in a vain attempt to push her off. “We have work to do!”

“We can take a break.” Jenny bites my earlobe, and a weird sound escapes me. “The water isn’t going anywhere.”

“But—” I gasp, words failing me as her palm grinds against my mound, and her fingers slide inside me.

“You’re just so cute.” Jenny steps forward, wrapping a leg around mine from the front. She spreads my stance, and starts moving faster. “Do you know how hard you are to resist?”

“Resist?” I mumble, head swimming. I’m rocking back and forth in her grip, less focused on escape than I should be.

“This whole time, all I’ve wanted to do is pin you to the wall and have my way with you.” Her voice is husky with lust. She rubs herself against me, nipples sliding across my back as she holds me close. “You know you’re the favorite, right?”

“What?” I say, focusing as much as I can. “Favorite? What do you mean?”

“Of the staff,” Jenny explains, scissoring her fingers inside me. I clench around her, sucking in a breath and holding back my orgasm in an effort to pay attention to her. “We all love you so much.”

“Why?” I sound more vulnerable than I want.

“You’re cute,” she punctuates the phrase with a kiss, “hardworking” another kiss, “good at sex,” another, “attentive,” another—

I cum, moaning in her arms as my body jerks and spasms. Jenny turns my head towards her, and captures my voice with her lips. I kiss her back, instinct taking over where logic fails. It doesn’t make sense. I... nothing makes sense.

Nothing except kissing Jenny.

The heat fades, the kisses slow, and Jenny pulls her fingers out of me. “Okay, we should get to work now,” she says, smiling indulgently.

We should. There’s so much to do.

I drop to my knees, hands gripping her waist, and press a kiss to her aching pussy. “Lizzy?” Jenny squeaks, hands gripping my wet hair.

“You’re cold,” I mumble into her muff. “Can’t work as well when you’re cold.”

She isn’t cold. She’s hot, practically burning up. Neither of us care. I lick up her arousal, shivering at the sweetness. So sweet. So delicious. I dive deeper, deeper, breathing in the scent of her arousal, soaking in her pleasure. Above me, she gasps, moans, and tightens her grip.

It doesn’t take long for her to cum, not with how worked up she is.

I pull back, a smirk etched on my face. I feel dizzy, but satisfied. Like I just finished a hard day’s work. There’s something nice about a job well done, and fucking her scratches that itch.

“Okay,” Jenny pants, lust clouding her eyes. “We really need to work now.”

“Yeah,” I say, standing up carefully.

We don’t get dressed as we mop, since our clothes aren’t dry yet. Afterwards, Jenny pins me against the wall, and we spend the rest of our break eating each other out. Our clothes still aren’t dry.

“Guess we should walk back to the locker room like this,” Jenny says with a smile.

I look at the clock, and swallow thickly. “We have more work to do,” I say, voice faint. “I don’t think we have time to get dressed again.”

Jenny presses against my side, one hand sliding between my legs from behind. I part them slightly for her. “Oh dear,” she whispers. “You’re right. I guess we have no choice but to work the rest of our shift naked.”

“Yeah,” I say, head still fogged up from the sex. “I guess we do.”

Jenny tugs me towards the stairs, and I follow after her. Each step away from my clothes sends a fresh thrill through me. Each brush of air across my skin stokes my arousal. This is a bad idea.

But then, I don’t really have any other options, do I?

*****

I'm working a night shift. I don't normally do this, but the usual girl called out, so it's up to me to take care of things. She calls out often enough that I've done this a handful of times already, not that it's any less annoying that I have to interrupt everything to take care of this. Then again, all I was doing before this was listening to music, and I can do that while working.

I step daintily down the hall as soothing sounds echo from my headphones. Mistress makes sure all her staff have music devices, which is one of the few benefits of my position here. I won’t call it a job, because I didn’t sign up for it. I think. Honestly, I don’t remember. Everything prior to working here is... fuzzy. Clouded. Like there’s a thick fog blocking it off. The more I stare at the fog, the more a disquieting feeling builds within me. Squirming, wriggling, curling, warmth.

Oh, I’m horny. Cool. Fucking libido.

As I polish yet another doorknob, my mind wanders. Away from the fog, away from my annoyance, and towards this dull need inside me. I’m pretty much always horny these days—or maybe I’ve always been like this? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I need some release, otherwise I’ll go insane.

I’ll never let the others know, but I’m always happy when they use my body on the job. I need the pleasure, and without them, I’d probably have some sort of lust induced breakdown, and the mere thought of that is just... just... the embarrassment would probably make me drop into a coma. Or something. Fuck, it's so hard to think like this.

The door to the trophy room creaks as I open it, and I make a mental note to grab some oil for the hinges before my shift ends. Flipping on the lights, I'm greeted by an array of shining statues, plaques, medals, and even a few weapons. Mistress’s family is very skilled, and makes a game of collecting awards from assorted competitions. All of their stuff is gathered here, on display for everyone to see.

My eyes lock to the centerpiece, a statue of a naked man reclining on a lounge chair, legs spread with his erect cock pointed towards the heavens. Not all the competitions are chaste, and they display proof of their sexual conquest right alongside their jigsaw puzzle awards. This particular statue was a gift from another wealthy individual who held a “last one standing” orgy. Apparently, Mistress's brother was the luckier winner of a custom statue to commemorate the occasion. He doesn't visit often, and only once since I got here, but once is enough for me to know that the statue is a perfect likeness.

I move around the room on autopilot, cleaning the glass and dusting off the shelves with meticulous care. Finishing my job is important. Being a good maid is important. The odd, ringing chimes of my music echo through my head. What band is this? What genre? I don't know. I can't remember. It's what was on the device. It's what she makes me listen to. I think I like it.

There's a silver dildo trophy from a glory hole competition. I spend a bit longer than needed cleaning it, running my hands up and down its length. I lick my lips, imaging what it would feel like to wrap them around the trophy's length. A drop of liquid trickles down my inner thigh, and I force myself to move on. The fog is thick now. Heavy. Warm. Hot. Humid.

Finally, I finish cleaning the trophies, save one. The best for last. I can barely stand. My legs shake, and my pussy aches with need. I set down my cloth and spray bottle, get down on my hands and knees, and crawl forward between the statue's legs. The cock is huge, with intricately molded details. I run my tongue up the side, shivering at its coolness.

I'm debasing myself in front of a statue. It's shameful. It's embarrassing. Nobody can see me. Nobody can ever know I'm doing this.

They can't know that I like it.

I focus all my attention on the metal dick in front of me, polishing and cleaning it like my duties demand. Arousal pours through me in waves, and the tops of my socks begin to dampen as my cum leaks down my legs. I wrap my lips around the cock, and bob my head up and down, imagining that this is a person, and not just a statue.

Imagining that I'm doing this for an audience, and they're all watching me.

A whimper squeaks out of me, and I pull back from the cock with a wet pop. I need more. I crawl upwards, positioning my wet slit above the cock. A thought strikes me, and I pause. This is going to be messy, isn't it?

In a faint daze, I reach down and pull my one piece dress up and over my head. I shiver, breasts exposed, and toss the garment aside. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, I lower myself onto the statue's cock.

I moan loud and unrestrained as the metal rod fills me. Bit by bit, piece by piece, I take it, until finally my hips press against the cold metal of the base. I raise myself up, panting heavily, and then let myself drop again.

And again.

And again.

Faster and faster, trying to match the beat of my heart, I pound myself with the statue. It's so good. So wonderfully good. I grip my breasts, kneading them and twisting at my nipples.

The fog closes in, twists and curls, and finally—I get my release.

My back arches. My voice died. A tsunami of pleasure crashes into me, drowning all rational thought. I see spots, and for a moment, I'm weightless.

Then I come too, sitting on a cock, staring at the ceiling. The clock on the other end of the room says it's half past midnight. I'm ahead of schedule. I start moving again, bouncing my body with quick, desperate movements.

I have time for one more round.

*****

I had a dream last night. I don’t remember the details, only that I was sad. Alone, trapped, drowning in debt, drowning. So much drowning. I remember feeling hopeless. Lost. Scared.

Was it a memory? I don’t know. I can’t remember anything other than working here. When I think of my life before working as Mistress’s maid, there’s nothing. A void, cold and unforgiving.

It scares me.

So I try not to think about it.

I knock on the door to my Mistress’s office, entering only when she gives me leave. It’s the same as always, and Mistress remains busy with her work. I stop in the usual spot, and give her the usual curtsy. Mistress’s smile dims slightly when she sees me.

“Are you alright, Lizzy?” she asks, voice laced with concern.

I nod, hesitate, then shrug. “I don’t know. I had a dream, and then I was trying to remember why, and... I can’t remember.”

Mistress’s concern triples and my heart plummets. “I see,” she says. “What can’t you remember?”

“Anything,” I say, wringing my hands as I look away. “I remember being a maid, being here with you, but everything else—it’s gone, and I don’t know why. I can’t stop thinking about that gap.”

The silence is heavy, like dirt over a coffin.

“Come here,” Mistress says at last. I step forward, around the desk, and pause. There’s a cushion on the floor. “This happens, sometimes.”

She opens a drawer, and pulls out a large set of headphones connected to a music player. “What happens?” I ask, heart jackhammering, palms sweating, panic rising.

“Do you remember when you started working here?” she asks, slowly unwinding the cord of the headphones.

The memory is dim, cloudy. Just out of reach. “I can’t.” Shame burns at my tongue like a brand.

“It’s okay. Think back, Elza.”

The name sends a spark through me, and I remember. I remember the interview with Mistress—Rachel, that’s her name. She had a lot of candidates, lots of options. I didn’t beg. I refused to beg. But she saw me trembling. She saw my desperation. She saw my pain.

“Oh.” The word slips out faintly. I wanted this. I wanted to escape. There were other options. Other jobs, some that even paid better. But I wanted this. It was my dream, in a lot of ways, and it solved my problems. All of them.

“You charmed me from the moment you walked through that door,” Mistress says with a smile. “My heart ached when you told me your story. You’re all paid off, you know.”

I blink. “I am?” I don’t have any more debt?

“Yes. You’ve been paid off for a while. Remember last time this happened? We talked about it, and you wanted to stay.” Her words trigger another memory. And another. And another.

“I...” my voice catches. “I can stay here? I can keep serving you?”

“Of course,” she says kindly. “As long as you want.”

I swallow thickly. “Please?”

“As you wish.” Mistress snaps her fingers, and I go still, memories once again shrouded by impenetrable fog. “Get comfortable, pet,” she says, voice clear and kind.

I strip, removing every shred of clothing, including my hair ties. Mistress takes each item I hand her, and sets it aside. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering at the exposure. I feel so cold. So empty. Eyes everywhere, watching and leering. I love it, but I’m scared of loving it. I need it, but I’m scared of needing it.

Scared. Anxious. Burning with cold.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mistress whispers, brushing away a tear, and putting my hair behind my ears. “I love you dearly, Lizzy. We all do.”

“Really?” I ask, even as I remember Lee, Jenny, and everyone else.

“Of course,” Mistress says. “Now, sit on the cushion and close your eyes.”

I do as she says. Mistress can help me. She can solve this problem. I know she can.

The headphones fit snugly over my ears. A switch flips, and the most wonderful sound starts to echo from them.

“Listen to my voice,” the recording says in Mistress’s voice. Soothing chimes, soft melodies, and Mistress’s words envelope me. “You don’t need all these silly memories. You don’t need all this pain. This is where you belong. This is what you do. This is your whole life, and you’re happy this way.”

I’m happy like this. Happy here. I don’t need to think about the past. How unhappy I was. How stuck I was. I’m not there anymore.

“All you need to do is listen to me, and work hard...”

Her voice is all there is. Her words are all that matters. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over...

The headphones come off, and I open my eyes. It’s mid-afternoon. Where did my morning go?

“How are you feeling, Lizzy?” Mistress asks, head cocked with a faint smile.

I scowl. “Bored,” I say, arms folding across my bare chest. “Are you done with me? Can I get back to work?”

She’s always like this. Insisting I need to work hard, then making me sit next to her without any clothes on for hours. Some sort of power play, or punishment. I’d probably be more annoyed if it wasn’t so arousing, but that’s beside the point.

“Of course,” Mistress says with an indulgent smile. “Run along now.”

I stand up, and step confidently towards the door, only pausing when I touch the handle and realize I’m still naked. “Mistress?” I turn back at her, and she raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “My clothes?”

Mistress chuckles. “They’re in your locker, dear.”

My heart skips a beat. “Right. Of course.”

I turn the handle, and step out into the hallway. Of course I don’t have my clothes. That would be too simple. I’m already so behind on my work as well. I speed-walk towards the locker room, ignoring the thrill of being naked in the halls like this. Not that I’m enjoying this, of course. That would be irresponsible.

My footsteps slow, and I turn towards the cleaning closet instead.

Wasting time getting dressed would also be irresponsible, wouldn’t it? Especially with how far behind I am. I’ll just have to do it naked. It’s not my fault, really.

I’m just being a good maid.